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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739208">Such are the Autumn People</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strayycatss/pseuds/strayycatss'>strayycatss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Semi-Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:26:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,994</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strayycatss/pseuds/strayycatss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"When the lamps are switched off, he stares at the ceiling until his eyes adjust to the dark, and absorbs the sounds of the night: the kids laughing outside the building, the neighbors to his left listening to music, the thunder of footsteps in the hall as other freshmen enjoy their first night of independence. As he drifts off, he thinks about the hush of nights at the orchard, and wonders if somewhere in this noisy building, someone else is already feeling homesick, too. " </p><p>It was autumn when Gilbert lost his father. It was autumn when he met Anne.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Such are the Autumn People</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first attempt at writing in the present tense (like "says" vs "said") and it was a doozy. I had lovely betas but I'm a maniac who couldn't leave it be and kept messing with it, so if there's any mistakes, that's all me baby. Also, it starts a bit sad, and I take some liberties with the timeline, but hang in there. I'll reward you with fluffy college kids. </p><p>Title comes from Ray Bradbury's 'Something Wicked This Way Comes'.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The feeling always hits with the first cold breeze of the season. </p><p>It’s a feeling he’s familiar with by now, even though it’s changed over the years. It sneaks up on him slowly at first, then settles over him as quickly as the dark when the clocks change. Like the hour, like the season, he’s changed, too. </p><p>But autumn reminds him of where he’s been.</p><p>Every year, autumn made its way by Gilbert in what he felt was nature’s brief retelling of his childhood. Same as his youth, autumn felt as if it’d last forever, and left him too soon. Or maybe, in that same way, autumn was actually nature’s reminder of his father.</p><p>John Blythe had loved the fall, and his quiet enthusiasm for the season was so tangible that it easily infected his son as well. Each year, as soon as the sun set on August, Gilbert knew what to expect: </p><p>Early September was a time of birthday celebrations, almost always in the form of a camping trip, with soft voices around the campfire as John shared previously unheard stories about Gilbert’s mother. Later that month, the orchard would open to the community on Saturdays, and John would move through the groves to bask in the sounds of families creating memories among his trees. October brought childlike glee in the form of picking up yet another pumpkin or bag of candy from the market, and mischief in the form of tossing his son into piles of leaves they’d spent entire afternoons raking. Halloween would be the last big celebration of the season, blowing through their home in a whirlwind of homemade costumes and beloved ghost stories, before making way for the cold, calm nights of November. </p><p>In retrospect, Gilbert liked those quiet nights the best, when his dad would make vat after vat of chili and teach him card games by the fire, or have him bring blankets out to the porch so they could gaze at the starlight in the most comfortable silence he’d ever known. </p><p>On one of these nights, Gilbert asked his father what it was about the season that he loved so much. John thought about it for a long time, rocking slowly in his chair before a small smile seeped into the creases on his face. </p><p>“Because,” He’d said simply, “It brought me you.” </p><p>It’s either poetic or insulting that it’d also end up being the season of his passing, to take him away from the world he’d appreciated so much; Gilbert can’t decide. He can’t decide anything, even though his life dissolves into a series of choices that, while he might be old enough to understand if he had presence of mind, he is still too young to make. Without his dad, he simultaneously feels the oldest and youngest he’s ever been, and the sensation is akin to being stranded. </p><p>Bash and Mary ease his burden by handling the majority of the funeral arrangements, legal matters, and other miscellaneous tasks that arrive in the wake of John’s death. Gilbert’s sole responsibility is to speak at the ceremony, and he shares a eulogy he’d been avoiding drafting since his dad took a turn for the worse in late summer. It sounds hollow to his own ears, and he struggles to keep his eyes focused as he finishes his tribute with a reading of his father’s favorite poem: <em>‘Song of the Open Road’</em>.</p><p>“The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer,” He recites from memory, his vision blurring too severely to make out the words. “I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them.”</p><p>Later, he escapes from the wake to wander through the orchard. The early November air is unseasonably warm, but he still hugs his coat tighter around himself in the fading afternoon light. Eventually, he settles under one of the last trees to lose its foliage, and even though the earth is damp between its roots, Gilbert sits down anyways. A withered, brown leaf drops between his legs, and he worries the stem between his fingers. </p><p>The last two autumns of John Blythe’s life had been spent in and out of hospitals and hospice care, breaking the unofficial traditions the Blythe men had practiced Gilbert’s entire childhood. Instead, the autumn months were spent on bed rest, with his father watching the season change from his bedroom window. Gilbert did what he could to keep spirits up, reading to him frequently and torrenting B-list horror films for movie night. He’d tried his hand at making chili, and got good at ordering takeout when the responsibilities started to stack up. </p><p>Gilbert wonders if his dad saw the distractions for what they were. </p><p>The sun finally dips below the horizon, casting the orchard in an encroaching chill that shakes Gilbert to his core. He tries not to think about how in another reality, they might be putting away Halloween decorations, or unloading groceries, or sorting laundry in front of the TV. Maybe, in another reality, his mother is there too, along with all of the siblings that could have been, had things worked out differently. He tries not to think about how all he wants is to hear the comforting sound of his father’s voice.</p><p>He fails miserably. </p><p>It’s Bash who finds him long after it gets dark, curled up in the roots of the tree with tears streaming down his face. He crouches down wordlessly next to him, gathering Gilbert to him and letting him continue to cry into his peacoat. When he’s let it all out, Bash helps him to stand, and they nod at each other. Gilbert pockets the leaf, and they make their way back to the house together. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>“Which floor is it again?” Elijah asks, readjusting the plastic tubs in his arms so he can hit the correct elevator button.</p><p>Gilbert sets his own boxes on the floor to unfold the printed out instructions. “Third floor. I’m in 303.”</p><p>“That’ll be easy to remember when you come home drunk.”</p><p>“I’m flattered you think I’ll be going to parties at all.”</p><p>Time has been good to him. It doesn’t fix, but it heals, and Gilbert finds that he’s capable of growing with change if he allows himself to. The LaCroixs are good to him, too, and he’ll forever be grateful for the way they so readily accepted him into their family. Bash had been in his life for years, working under his father’s wing on the orchard, and with Bash came Mary, and Elijah, and eventually sweet Delphine, whose arrival into the world reminded him that not only does life go on, but in addition to taking, it also gives. </p><p>It doesn’t give all at once, though; he wouldn’t be ready for it if it did. Instead, after dropping him so severely in the deep end, it starts by providing him with what he needs to learn how to float: the stability of a new home, regular sessions with a counselor, space when he needs it. Then, he slowly learns to tread water: life gives him a renewed interest in school, returns pieces of his sense of humor, grants him permission to stand just a bit taller some days. </p><p>Now, he’s learning to swim.</p><p>It’s the last week of August, and the LaCroixs are helping him move into his freshman dorm. He doesn’t bring much with him to college; just the recommended staples, and the pillow he’s had since he was a kid. It allowed for quick work of unloading the car, giving the boys a head start while Bash and Mary found a parking spot. </p><p>The elevator doors open onto the chaos of the third floor, and the amount of people spilling in and out the hallway is almost claustrophobic. They carefully navigate through the throng of other freshmen, holding tight to their armloads and avoiding stray floor lamps and bean bag chairs until they manage to find the correct room. Gilbert fumbles with his new key, ears burning at the way Elijah smoothly calls out to a group of girls passing by – “hey, how’s it going, this is my friend Gil, come say hi later” – before unlocking the door and propping it open.  </p><p>The room is small, but the window is large and offers a decent buffer between the twin beds that frame it. At this time of day, the sunlight bounces directly into the room, illuminating the eggwhite walls and making it appear bigger than it probably otherwise would. Gilbert nods in approval, but Elijah is less impressed.</p><p>“Damn, this is supposed to be for two people?” He asks, setting his load in the middle of the worn carpeting.</p><p>“It’s not so bad,” Gilbert shrugs. “At least it’s not bunk beds.”</p><p>“Yeah, because you’d get the bottom bunk.”</p><p>Gilbert’s in the middle of investigating the desks at the foot of each bed when Mary walks in, his backpack hanging off one shoulder and Delphine hanging off the other. She sets down the squirming toddler and stretches her back with a frown. “Oh my. Is this gonna be enough room for you?”</p><p>Before Gilbert can respond, Mary reaches back into the hall to grab Bash by the arm so he doesn’t walk into the wrong room. He pauses, arms stacked with the rest of Gilbert’s things, and whistles low. “Wow Blythe, the size of this room takes me back to my days in the navy.”</p><p>Elijah barks out a laugh and Gilbert sighs in annoyance. “We get it! It’s small!”</p><p>He is once again thankful that Delphine can’t talk yet, or else she’d probably be ribbing him too. Instead, his niece toddles towards one of the beds and hits her chubby hand against the mattress decisively. </p><p>“Looks like Delly just chose my side of the room for me,” He confirms as he crouches down next to her, and she looks so proud of herself that he hopes his roommate is fine with the selection. </p><p>They begin setting up his things, but don’t work too long; Gilbert insists they leave the actual unpacking to him. Instead, they enjoy a late lunch near campus followed by a leisurely walk around the quad, and though Gilbert is immensely enjoying this extra time with them, he can tell they’re stalling the farewell. </p><p>Eventually, they’re back outside his residential hall, and he hugs them one by one as they load into the car. Mary’s the last one to embrace him, squeezing him tight and adjusting his collar when she pulls back. </p><p>“We’re so proud of you, Gil,” She says, placing a hand to his cheek, and he knows she’s talking about more than just school. “This might be just what you need.” </p><p>The car pulls away, and he doesn’t feel sad until Delphine twists around in her car seat to wave at him one last time. His hand remains in the air long after their car turns the corner, and he realizes he’s on his own again for the first time in years. </p><p>He exhales quietly, averting his gaze to look for a person who isn’t there. Gilbert shoves his hands into his pockets and shuffles back into the residential hall, ducking around kids and their families, and reminds himself that this is supposed to be an exciting occasion. </p><p>In the lobby, he catches the elevator again just before it closes, and finds himself hitching a ride with a girl and her parents. Gilbert tries not to eavesdrop, but it’s hard to ignore the way the girl happily chatters away in the cramped space. She’s in the middle of gushing about the school paper when the older woman suddenly scrubs at her cheek, and the girl’s face turns as red as her hair.</p><p>“Are you certain you have everything you need?” The woman fusses. “Matthew, let’s make sure to put more money on her debit card, just in case. You know what she’s like when she’s on her adventures; she forgets to eat, and before you know it she’s weakened and face down in a ditch!”</p><p>“<em>Marilla!” </em> The girl protests, her eyes flickering to Gilbert. He’d been trying to remain unnoticed in the corner, but can’t help the way his lips quirk at how sweet the exchange is. The elevator opens on his floor, and he peeks at the girl as he steps off. She rolls her eyes at him in a look that says <em> “parents, am I right?”</em>, and the doors close on her grin.</p><p>His eyes are downcast when he makes it to his dorm, which is why he doesn’t notice another person in there until he closes the door and nearly jumps out of his skin. The other boy doesn’t jump, but he stops unpacking to stare back at Gilbert with one eyebrow raised. Thankfully, this guy must be a lot less awkward than he is, because he stands up straight and offers a small smile.</p><p>“Hey, you must be Gilbert.”</p><p>Gilbert, feeling like an idiot, remembers his manners and steps forward to shake his hand. “That’s me. You must be Cole.”</p><p>“Yeah, nice to finally meet you.” </p><p>“Likewise,” Gilbert says, thankful they’d had the chance to exchange a couple of introductory emails after being assigned as roommates. </p><p>Although Cole had seemed nice in his messages, he hadn’t offered too much about himself other than his major and hobbies, so Gilbert hadn’t been entirely sure of what to expect. They strike up a conversation while they unpack, though, and Gilbert discovers that his roommate has a quietness about him that’s similar to his own. Despite this, the conversation flows well; Cole assures him that he’s fine with his side of the room, Gilbert helps him hang his artwork, and by the time they venture out to dinner together, Gilbert feels keen relief at having already made a friend. </p><p>Later, after he’s settled in for the night, Gilbert texts the LaCroixs and Elijah to thank them again for their help. Then, when the lamps are switched off, he stares at the ceiling until his eyes adjust to the dark, and absorbs the sounds of the night: the kids laughing outside the building, the neighbors to his left listening to music, the thunder of footsteps in the hall as other freshmen enjoy their first night of independence. As he drifts off, he thinks about the hush of nights at the orchard, and wonders if somewhere in this noisy building, someone else is already feeling homesick, too. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>He adjusts to campus life pretty quickly and falls into a routine. For the most part, his days consist of going to class, labs, study group, the library, and, when he remembers to eat, the dining hall. The pre-med track renders him busier than he expected, but he can’t think of a better use for his time. Other than that, most of his free time is spent in his room.   </p><p>Not that that’s a bad thing, either. Living with Cole turns out to be great. He’s kind, tidy, and is hardly ever in the dorm except for when he’s sleeping. When he <em>is </em>in their room, he’ll occasionally ask Gilbert about his day, or for the name of the album he’s studying to, then lapse back into a comfortable silence as he sketches in his notebook. It’s a low-maintenance friendship, and Gilbert appreciates his presence in what he honestly thought would be a lonely first semester. One of the best parts about living with Cole, though, is his other friends that sometimes come around when he’s home. </p><p>Specifically, his friend Anne.</p><p>Anne was the last thing Gilbert expected upon coming to college. When he used to worry about school, one of his concerns was that it would be hard to make friends. Then he met Anne, and learned that he should’ve been more worried about how apparently effortless it is for him to make enemies. </p><p>He’s never had an enemy before, not that he would consider her as such. He likes Anne, a lot in fact, and he’s sure he’d like her even more if he actually got to know her. But if you ask Anne, and he’s definitely asked Cole, she would say that Gibert is “an insufferable clown”.</p><p>In hindsight, he could’ve handled their first interaction with much more grace. They had met on the first day of classes that semester in the same Brit Lit seminar, and Professor Stacy had kept them the full time after going over the syllabus. He’d recognized her immediately as the girl from the elevator, and in that hour and fifteen minutes, he’d learned Anne’s name, who her favorite authors were, and that when she read passages aloud, she spared no ounce of passion. After class, when he was itching to talk to her and had carelessly called her “Carrots” as he tried to catch up with her, she whipped around so fast that she nearly smacked him across the face with her copy of <em> Canterbury Tales</em>.</p><p>“How dare you!” She had yelled. “We’re at an institute for higher education and you stoop to childish name-calling? Seriously?!”</p><p>Anne hadn’t given him a chance to reply before storming off, and Gilbert watched her go, jaw slack. In that brief interaction, he had learned that Anne had a temper, that she had way more freckles up close, and that if he worked on his social skills, he might like to be her friend. </p><p>He’d still like that, even though she claims to hate his guts. Gilbert would try to engage with her as much as possible in class, solidifying his status as her rival and pissing her off to no end (the fact that he wasn’t even an English major seemed to convince Anne that he only put forth the effort to humiliate her). But if he’s anything, it’s determined, so he gladly took any interactions he could get, whether it meant verbally sparring with her in the classroom or receiving haughty glances when they passed each other on campus. At least those glances were better than her pointedly ignoring him. </p><p>Her obvious disdain towards Gilbert made it that much funnier when she showed up outside his dorm one day early in the fall, face lit up in excitement until she realized who answered the door. </p><p>They had stared at each other in surprise for a moment before Anne demanded, “What are <em> you </em>doing here?” </p><p>“I live here,” Gilbert said, so taken aback by her presence that it came out sounding like a question. “What are <em> you </em>doing here?”</p><p>Anne looked from him to the number by the doorframe, as if double-checking to make sure she was in the right place. Realization dawned on her face, and the words “oh no” slipped out of her mouth as Cole appeared over Gilbert’s shoulder.</p><p>“Hey, Anne–” He started, then stopped when he noticed her embarrassment. He looked from her to Gilbert. “Do you guys know each other?”</p><p>“You’re roommates?” Anne cried at the same time Gilbert explained, “We have a class together.”</p><p>They all blinked at each other. </p><p>“You guys are roommates,” Anne clarified.</p><p>“Yes, Cole and I are roommates.”</p><p>“Well, Cole and I are <em>best. Friends,” </em>Anne snapped defensively.</p><p>“And we’re in a class together,” Gilbert repeated to Cole, gesturing between Anne and himself as he tried to register the situation. </p><p>“This is my nightmare.”</p><p>“And this is my dorm.”</p><p>Cole had watched quietly as his typically affable friend bickered with his typically eloquent roommate. He crossed his arms. “Interesting.” </p><p>Since then, Gilbert’s gotten used to Anne’s semi-regular appearances in their room. She always announces herself with the same rhythmic knock, which makes it easier to brace himself for her arrival, and though she only came for Cole, Gilbert finds himself to always be the one to answer the door. </p><p>On Halloween, he’s lounging in bed, flipping through his chem notes and dodging texts from his friends about a party, when he hears that same knock.</p><p> </p><p>[Moody]: <em> duuuude, goober. u gotta come out</em></p><p>[Gilbert]: <em>did you just call me goober</em></p><p>[Moody]: <em>oh shit </em></p><p>[Moody]: <em>autocorrect</em></p><p>[Moody]: <em>that's hilarious tho</em></p><p>[Charlie]: <em>*GILBERT</em>, <em>you don’t even need a costume. just a good attitude. also byob  </em></p><p>[Moody]: <em> u can have one of my beers!!!!! i already drank a bunch but i think there’s a couple left </em></p><p>[Charlie]: <em> there’s one left </em></p><p> </p><p>The knock sounds again, more impatiently this time, and Gilbert hastily replies, <em> sorry guys, got too much studying to do. have fun! </em></p><p>His phone goes off as they send him more messages, but he ignores them to swing open the door. He already knows who it’s going to be, but he still has to pause and take in her appearance. She’s unrecognizable at a glance, but underneath the blue wig, he’d know that look of contempt anywhere. </p><p>“Evening, Anne.”</p><p>“Hi,” She says, shuffling awkwardly in her rain boots. It takes him a second to figure out who she’s supposed to be dressed as, especially since he’s distracted by how endearing she looks in her oversized yellow raincoat and striped stockings.</p><p>“Are you trick-or-treating?” He can’t help but tease, and thankfully Anne’s only retaliation is an eye roll.</p><p>“I’m here to pick up Cole, you ass. Is he ready?”</p><p>“I think he’s still doing his makeup in the bathroom, so it might be a sec.”</p><p>Anne groans and stomps her rainboot. “We agreed to be ready by seven!”</p><p>“He’s been getting held up at the studio a lot lately,” Gilbert explains, shrugging apologetically on behalf of his roommate. </p><p>“I swear, art students work way more hours than anyone, especially STEM majors.” </p><p>“...You realize you’re talking to a STEM major, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s why I said it.” </p><p>Gilbert bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. He knows he shouldn’t enjoy being insulted this much; he’s used to being roasted by the LaCroixs back home, and now by the friends he’s made in school, but it’s different coming from Anne. When there’s no real vitriol behind her words, it’s oddly charming. </p><p>“You got me,” He sighs, slumping against the doorframe. “I’m doing pre-med for the free time.” </p><p>Anne exhales in what he <em>thinks </em>could’ve been a laugh, and then checks her phone. She looks down the hall towards the bathrooms and says, “Well, can you send him down when he’s done? Diana and Ruby are already downstairs, so…”</p><p>“Can do,” Gilbert agrees, watching the way Anne scuffs the toe of her yellow boot against the floor. She nods at him before turning to leave, and he finds himself quickly straightening up to offer, “But, um, you’re welcome to wait here for him. If you want.” </p><p>Anne sizes him up, and he holds his breath. To his relief, she pushes past him to lean against Cole’s desk and cross her arms as she looks everywhere but at him. Gilbert’s suddenly aware that it’s just him and Anne alone for the first time ever, and his nerves spike. For a while now, he’d secretly wondered what it'd be like if she came over to see <em>him </em>and not just his roommate. They’d maybe hang out, or study together, or she’d simply just yell at him for disagreeing with her interpretation of their assigned reading. Now that it’s just the two of them in the quiet of his room, he’s not sure what to say. </p><p>“Do you want some candy?” He finally asks, and gestures lamely at the large bag he’d snagged from the corner store. </p><p>Anne eyes the bag, then says, “Do I have to say trick-or-treat?”</p><p>“Depends if you want two pieces.”</p><p>They stare each other down for a moment, before Anne says, “Fine, trick-or-treat. I’ll take the mini Twix.”</p><p>“Excellent choice,” Gilbert nods, handing her the candies and grabbing one for himself. They lapse back into an awkward silence, with the only sound in the room being the crinkling of candy wrappers as they try not to look at each other. Gilbert can’t stop peeking at her costume, though, and Anne huffs in annoyance. </p><p>“I’m Coraline,” she explains. “You know, from the wildly popular book and movie of the same name?”</p><p>“Yeah, I know who Coraline is,” he laughs. “It’s just… your hair is blue.” </p><p>“What, you gonna call me a blueberry this time?” Anne taunts before taking another bite of chocolate. </p><p>“No, I’m not that stupid. You just look different is all.”</p><p>Anne looks at him in a way that tells him she believes he really is that stupid, but stops eating for a moment to say, “Mission accomplished, then. Halloween’s the one time a year I get a decent excuse to hide my hair.” </p><p>Gilbert furrows his brows. “You don’t like your hair?” </p><p>“Of course I don’t! It’s red and horrible and has been the bane of my existence for my entire life. I <em> hate </em> it.”</p><p>“Oh,” Gilbert replies, then without thinking, says, “I like it a lot.”</p><p>Anne blinks back at him. “Oh.” </p><p>The awkwardness settles back in abruptly, and Gilbert’s contemplating just how much it would hurt if he jumped out his own window, but thankfully, Cole chooses that exact moment to stroll into the room. He stops in surprise when he sees Anne in there, and looks from her to Gilbert to see if their blushes match. Before he can say anything, though, Anne shoots up and shouts, “<em>Cole</em>, holy shit! You look so good!”</p><p>Cole does indeed look good, and cuts a striking figure in his homemade Edward Scissorhands costume. He grins and bops Anne on the nose with one scissor-finger. “You look good, yourself. I knew our wigs would work.”</p><p>They continue to fawn over each other’s costumes, and Gilbert, the most normally dressed in his t-shirt and sweatpants, finds himself feeling like the odd man out. He settles back on his bed, ready to resume his night of studying and binging candy, when Cole asks, “Gilbert, you wanna come? We can whip up a costume for you.” </p><p>Anne glares at Cole for even suggesting the idea, which makes Gilbert chuckle. “I’m good, I’ve got some studying to do and then might watch a movie.”</p><p>“Wait,” Anne says, turning back to him. “You’re not celebrating?” </p><p>The change in her tone makes him pause. He hadn’t really considered how pitiful his plans were until now, but he hasn’t celebrated Halloween in a long time and still doesn’t have the heart for it. </p><p>“Does making myself sick from candy count?” He tries to joke.   </p><p>“I guess, but…” Anne starts to explain, looking almost crestfallen on his behalf. She can’t find the words, though, so settles on, “You should still do something fun.” </p><p>Gilbert shrugs and self-consciously rubs at the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll watch Coraline.”</p><p>Cole seems absolutely <em>delighted </em>by that idea, while Anne simply scowls and shoves her friend towards the door. Before they leave, she snatches another handful of Twix from Gilbert’s candy bag and says, “So you don’t make yourself sick.”</p><p>Gilbert watches as they go, and he can see Cole lean down to say something in Anne’s ear just before the door shuts behind them. Still, Anne’s voice is loud enough that Gilbert hears it when she shouts, “<em>What?! No, he doesn’t!” </em></p><p>He stares at the bag of candy for a moment, then picks back up his notes, but tosses them aside again when he realizes he’s not in the mood to study anymore. He then contemplates meeting up with Moody and Charlie after all, but he’s not in the mood for that, either. Instead, he feels inspired to dig around online for a B-list horror movie, and as it buffers, he glances out the window at the groups of costumed students that pass under the streetlights. It looks like fun, and he promises himself that next year, that’ll be him.</p><p>And in the middle of the night, when Cole drunk texts him pleading for help getting home (or, at least that’s what he thinks <em> “gimbert am vrey drunk pl s help i will owe u1” </em>means), he’ll shove on his warmest hoodie to go fetch his roommate. Several others will stumble out of the party to tag along, and like a sober pied piper enticing them with warm beds and Gatorade, he’ll lead them back across campus in their own parade. Anne will be there, and she’ll insist on leading the way, blue wig abandoned and hair flowing freely as she regales the small group with tales of a haunted wood. They’ll remind Gilbert of old stories on a front porch from many years ago, and as he trails behind Anne, he’ll realize he got to celebrate Halloween after all. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> -- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>On the third anniversary of his dad’s passing, Gilbert emails all of his professors claiming to be under the weather. It’s the first time he’s ever lied to get out of class, but he decides that the way he’s feeling lends his excuse some credibility. He knew the day would be hard; it is every year, and he suspects it will be for many to come. What he didn’t expect was to wake up that morning and instantly reach for his phone to call his father. He’s relieved that Cole already slipped out for the day, because with that privacy in mind,  he cries in bed as the reality of the last three years settles in again. Then, he swipes at his cheeks, sends his emails, and rolls back over to try and distract himself with more sleep.</p><p>Around mid-afternoon, he’s scrolling through videos on his hard drive from the time they went out west. He clicks on one titled ‘Canmore, Spring 2010’, and watches himself climb a boulder and wave down at the camera. His dad’s voice is clear through his laptop speaker.</p><p>
  <em> “What kind of mountain goat is this?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m not a goat. I’m just Gilbert.” </em>
</p><p><em> “Oh, it’s a </em> talking <em> goat!”  </em></p><p>The camera zooms in and Gilbert can see the way his younger self sticks his tongue out at it before smiling widely.</p><p>
  <em> “Dad, come up!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You climb for me, bud. I’ll watch you from here.”  </em>
</p><p>The video ends, and Gilbert can feel the sting in his eyes again, not that it’s really stopped. At least these tears are happier; he hasn’t let himself cry like this in a long time, and he knows that he’s long overdue for it. In the beginning, he’d wondered if the force of his emotions would lessen over time, and it had frightened him. He’s since learned that grief isn’t that linear.</p><p>Unintentionally, he watches most of the videos out of chronological order. It’s like flipping to a random page of a well-loved book and having to draw context for the full story from just an excerpt. It forces him to recall, recollect, to place himself within the captured moment until the surrounding details to each memory unfold. They stay fresher that way. </p><p>He’s about to click on another video when his phone vibrates twice. Figuring it’s Bash again, offering to call him if he wants to talk, he decides not to check the notification just yet in favor of clicking on a folder called ‘Summer 2005’. About twenty minutes later, as he’s watching a video of himself attempting to jump off a diving board for the first time, Gilbert feels he’s ready to call his brother (Bash would definitely get a kick out of the floaties he’s wearing). He flips over his phone to check his messages, but instead of seeing a text from Bash, he sees two texts from the last person he expected to hear from.</p><p> </p><p>[Unknown Number]: <em> It’s Anne from Brit Lit. I got your number from Cole. Since Prof Stacy still believes in doing everything on paper, I’ve been strong-armed into delivering you notes from today. Be there in 20.  </em></p><p>[Unknown Number]: <em> Try not to cough or sneeze on me. </em></p><p> </p><p>Gilbert jumps out of bed so quickly that his vision spots for a moment. Anne had never been to their dorm without Cole before, except for the awkward five minutes on Halloween, and now she was poised to show up at any second. On any other occasion, he would’ve been thrilled about this; honestly, the fact that Anne even texted him in the first place would’ve been enough to make his day. </p><p>But today is not a good day, not in the slightest, and the last thing Gilbert wants on top of being consumed by his grief is for the girl he might have a crush on to see him at his lowest. </p><p>He quickly snatches a clean shirt and forces it over his head, hoping that if she’s going to see him tired and puffy-eyed, that at the very least he wouldn’t stink. He’s desperately hunting for his hairbrush when he hears the familiar knock on the door, and sighs in defeat before cracking it open. </p><p>“Hey, Anne,” He says, cringing internally at the hoarse quality his voice had taken on from crying. He clears his throat. “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>Anne had been pointedly staring at the notebook in her hands, as though she was willing it to catch fire, but the rasp of his voice seems to catch her off guard. He watches in embarrassment as she looks up, taking in his pajama pants, messy hair, and bloodshot eyes. Suddenly he’s glad that he’d told Professor Stacy he was sick, because maybe he could pass off his appearance as a cold rather than a day spent in mourning. </p><p>But then she holds his gaze, and he knows she sees right through it; she’s too intuitive not to. He knows she is based on how she speaks in class. She’s able to read between the lines of their books and poems, interpreting words and meanings with an ardor that reveals a compassionate heart. Gilbert should’ve guessed she’d be able to take one look at him and know that something was very wrong. </p><p>He clears his throat again, and Anne snaps her eyes back down to the notebook. “Um, hi. We talked about a few sonnets from <em>Astrophil and Stella</em> today, but I’m sure you knew that if you looked at the syllabus. I hope you can read my handwriting, because normally it’s neat, but I got really excited about the discussion so it got kind of messy towards the end.”</p><p>He nods and means it when he says, “I’m sorry I missed it.”</p><p>Anne looks back up at him, and he can tell she’s trying not to pry. He doesn’t want her to, either, but then he sniffs despite himself, and her resolve cracks.  </p><p>“Are you–” She starts to ask, but she’s cut off by a shriek coming from Gilbert’s laptop. In his haste after seeing her messages, he’d forgotten to turn off the diving video.</p><p>“<em>Dad, did you see that?!” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Yeah, you did it Gilbert!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m gonna do a cannonball this time!”  </em>
</p><p>John Blythe’s laughter fills the room, followed by a, <em> “Hey, no running!”  </em></p><p>Anne can see the laptop on his unmade bed, surrounded by a few crumpled up tissues that didn’t make it to his wastebasket. She doesn’t know him well at all, so there’s no way that she could know what the video means to him, but she’s smart enough to know it’s related to his current state. She looks back to Gilbert, and the concern in her expression is suddenly too much for him, and all he wants is to be left alone again. </p><p>“Thanks for bringing these by, Anne. You didn’t have to do that.”</p><p>“It’s no problem. I mean, I would’ve just passed them off to Cole, but who knows when he’ll be home, and well,” she fiddles with the notebook spiral, “I wouldn’t want anyone to fall too far behind.” </p><p>She passes him the notebook, and he’s relieved to have something to do with his hands. He hugs it under his arm and says, “Right, because if you’re gonna beat me in Brit Lit, it’s gotta be fair and square.”</p><p>At that, the Anne he’s used to is back in an instant. “You know what? I actually hope you can’t read my handwriting.”</p><p>This makes Gilbert laugh; it’s the first time he’s laughed all day. The dimples appear on Anne's face as she turns to head for the elevators, and he’s about to close his door when she turns around to call, “Hey Gilbert? I hope you feel better.” </p><p>And for a moment, he does. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Gilbert sees Anne again two days later on his way out of their residence hall. He’s kneeling to tie his shoe by the bike racks when he spots her coming down the steps, fussing over her scarf with one hand and trying to juggle books and a small parcel in the other. </p><p>She spots him too, and changes her trajectory to determinedly walk straight towards him. He’s so surprised by this that it takes him longer than it should have to remember to stand back up.</p><p>“Hi.” </p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>There’s an awkward pause. Whatever confidence Anne had while walking up seems to falter, so Gilbert quickly reaches around to unzip his backpack and pull out Anne’s notebook. “Thanks again for loaning me your notes the other day. They were a huge help, and I enjoyed your commentary in the margins.”</p><p>This seems to be the correct thing to say, because Anne smiles slightly. </p><p>“Glad to hear someone appreciates my humor,” she says, and tries to readjust her belongings to take the notebook from him. “Um, actually if you could just-” </p><p>“No, God, sorry, your hands are obviously full. I can carry it until we get to class. Can I help you carry anything else?” Gilbert asks, automatically reaching out to steady her stack of books before they topple over.</p><p>Anne scrunches up her nose and says, “How chivalrous, but no, I got it.”</p><p>Gilbert tries not to laugh when the books slide again. “I thought I was just being polite. It’s a long way to carry a heavy load.” </p><p>“I do this every day, it’s fine,” Anne insists, but then almost shyly offers him the parcel. “You can take this, though. It’s kind of hard to balance.” </p><p>Gilbert takes the small package and swipes two of her books in the process, ignoring her protests as they start to walk to Brit Lit. He’d imagined walking with her to class before (it only made sense since they were on the same route!), and it may have taken up until November for it to actually happen, but it was <em>happening. </em> Gilbert tries to stamp down the excitement bubbling in his stomach, afraid that if it reaches past his chest and out his mouth, then he’ll do something stupid like point out that it’d be warmer and faster to take a bus, or worse, that her nose has turned red from the cold and it’s cute.  </p><p>Instead, he angles for small talk to break the awkward silence. “You really carry all of this every day?”</p><p>“Yeah, I do a lot of reading for my other classes, although half of these are really just for fun,” Anne explains, less uncomfortable now that they’re walking and she doesn’t have to look directly at him. “I started a story club where we share book recs and stories we’ve written. Cole’s in it, but he mainly draws when we meet.” </p><p>Gilbert tries to think back on the last time he read something other than a bio textbook as he looks over the titles in his arms. He becomes distracted by the parcel, though, and studies how delicately it’s been wrapped in paper and twine. </p><p>Anne peeks at him and turns bright red. “By the way, that’s... It’s for you.” </p><p>Gilbert can feel the tips of his ears growing hot at this information. Two positive interactions with Anne in one week, and now a gift from her as well? He’s not sure where this streak came from, but he thanks whatever cosmic force arranged for it to happen.</p><p>“Really?” He asks, and Anne turns redder at how softly the question comes out. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s an apple tart. I wouldn’t open it now unless you’re hungry, but definitely don’t wait too long to eat it. I mean, eat it whenever, it’s yours,” Anne says quickly. “I… know you weren’t feeling well the other day, and thought it might cheer you up.”</p><p>“You baked this for me?”</p><p>“It’s my adoptive mother’s recipe, and I make them when I’m homesick. She usually uses raspberries, but you’re always bringing apples to class, so I figured you might prefer that.” </p><p>Gilbert peels back a corner of the wrapping, and the sweet smell hits him. He thinks of the orchard at home, how he’d missed this year’s harvest even though it came and went with little incident under Bash’s watchful eye. He wonders how many families had gone out to pick their own produce this year, and how many of them went home to bake similar treats using his father’s apples. He wonders where Anne even found access to an oven, or why’d she bother taking the time to bake him something, or if she had any idea just how much this gesture might mean to him in the first place. </p><p>Gilbert has to swallow the lump in his throat to speak. “This is perfect. Thank you, Anne.”</p><p>If she notices the thickness of his voice, she’s polite enough not to mention it, but he doesn’t miss the way she smiles at the ground. Gilbert folds the wrapping back down and clears his throat. “So a story club, huh? What are you writing right now?”</p><p>Anne’s face lights up as she launches into the plot of her latest work, and they spend the rest of the walk talking about their favorite short stories, which leads to promises of sharing lists and loaning books. By the time they reach their seminar, she’s made him laugh twice, and Gilbert feels lighter than he has in days. </p><p>Before they walk in, Anne takes her books and notes back from him, then enters the classroom before he can get the door for her. She then proceeds with business as usual, contradicting everything Gilbert says in the class discussion, and though the flip in their interaction gives him mild whiplash, he doesn’t care as long as it happens again. </p><p>Later that afternoon, when he’s back in his dorm, Gilbert slowly unwraps the apple tart and takes a small bite. The filling melts in his mouth, and he thinks it might be the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>They end up walking to their class together for the rest of the semester. </p><p>At first, Gilbert has to orchestrate more run-ins with her outside their residence hall, but thankfully, Anne goes along with it. A part of him worries it’s because she feels sorry for him after seeing the state he was in when she dropped off her notebook, but if he allows himself to be optimistic, he suspects she might actually enjoy his company too.</p><p>By the end of November, Gilbert doesn’t bother pretending that he doesn’t intentionally wait for her outside their building. By December, Anne starts waiting for <em>him</em>.</p><p>Not once does the topic of that day at his dorm ever come up.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>“I know I’m already looking at taking eighteen hours next semester, but I’d really like to hold off on taking another composition course if there’s any way I can get a spot in orgo…” Gilbert trails off when he realizes his advisor isn’t really paying attention to him. He hadn’t thought much of Professor Phillips when they first met, but the more time he spends with the man, the more he wonders why he’s in academia at all. Gilbert powers on, “...So if you could help me look into that, that would be much appreciated.” </p><p>“What?” Phillips asks absently, taking another long moment before he peels his eyes away from his computer screen. He squints at Gilbert, as if trying to remember who’s sitting in his office, then clicks around with his mouse. “You’re a freshman, right?” </p><p>“Yes, but I–”</p><p>“Freshmen don’t typically enroll in 300-level chemistry courses.” </p><p>“Right, I understand that, but I was hoping an accelerated schedule might help me look for internships sooner.” </p><p>Phillips sighs and turns back to his screen. “And what’s your projected focus within the major, Blythe?” </p><p>“Pre-med, I hope.”</p><p>“Ah, a hopeful future doctor. What a noble profession,” Phillips drawls. Since he’s still looking at his computer, it’s hard for Gilbert to gauge whether he rolls his eyes or not. “Unfortunately, I can’t get you into orgo next semester. You’ll have to wait until next year.”</p><p>“Is it really not a possibility at all? I have a strong work ethic, sir, and I know that if you’re able to help me find room in that course, or move around my schedule, I’d be able to make it work.”</p><p>“Well your transcript would beg to differ,” Phillips says after clicking around again. “Is your strong work ethic what made you opt-out of taking more AP courses in high school?” </p><p>Gilbert bites his tongue, then says, “No, but–”</p><p>“Or maybe your <em>strong work ethic </em>is what made your grades noticeably drop in year ten? Is that the case?” </p><p>“No. It’s because–”</p><p>“This is college, Blythe,” Phillips interrupts with a sneer. “Save the excuses, because I don’t want them. They’re childish, and I’m not your father.”  </p><p>Gilbert grips the sides of his plastic chair tightly so that his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t owe this man an explanation, but then Phillips looks away in satisfaction, and Gilbert feels the anger reach his throat. </p><p>“My father’s dead.”</p><p>Phillips stops clicking his mouse, and Gilbert has to focus on taking measured breaths before continuing, “That’s why my grades dropped that year.”</p><p>He watches as Phillips fumbles for words. Finally, his advisor says, “Well… the statement still stands. I can’t help you. You’ll just have to trudge through your core classes like the rest of your peers.”</p><p>Gilbert nods curtly and grabs his backpack, swinging it over his shoulder roughly as he dismisses himself from the cramped office. He hurries through the hall, not really seeing where he’s going, and grinds his jaw in a way that will certainly give him a headache later. He doesn’t care, though. Not when he’s this angry. </p><p>It’s not so much based on the fact that Phillips had been insulting and unwilling to help him; he’d almost expected that based on their previous interactions. It’s not even that he’d been so callously reminded of his dad, although that did sting significantly. </p><p>No, what makes him the angriest is that he’d been called childish. </p><p>In the few years between his dad getting sick and passing away, he’d had to learn to toe the line between conducting himself like an adult, and deal with being pitied like a child by most of the other adults in his life. They’d comforted him at arm's length, commending him on how strong he was being for John, when really, most of the time he’d just wanted to give in to the tantrum that threatened to boil over most days. He didn’t want to be praised for his maturity; he just wanted his dad to get better. Between that and finally losing him, Gilbert thinks he’s had to do way too much growing up in too short a time to deserve being called childish.  </p><p>The word rings in his ears, and he then wonders if his anger only proves that comment to be correct. It makes him feel even worse. </p><p>He’s halfway to his dorm before he realizes he still has a lab to attend in half an hour, and finds himself at a loss for where to go. He ends up sinking into a bench on the quad, which turns out to be surprisingly private since he’s the only person out there not in a rush to escape the cold. It’s certainly below freezing, but the chill helps soothe the pounding in his head, and the dark clouds above do well to compliment his mood. They’re heavy with snow, and he absently realizes that another autumn’s coming to a close.</p><p>He’s staring intently at the sky, which is why he doesn’t notice Anne approaching him until she’s already plopping down onto the bench next to him. Her sudden appearance both does and doesn’t surprise him; she apparently has a talent for finding him in moments like this. Still, his eyebrows raise as she makes herself comfortable. </p><p>“Hey,” She greets as if they had planned to meet here all along.</p><p>“Hey,” He echoes. </p><p>Anne rubs her hands together in excitement before holding up one gloved finger. “It’s supposed to start any minute.” </p><p>Her voice is low as if she doesn’t want to scare off whatever she’s expecting, and he finds himself slightly leaning across the bench to hear her better. He drops his voice to match hers, “What is?”</p><p>“The snow? Isn’t that why you’re out here?” Anne explains, looking confused. He shakes his head, and Anne tugs on the end of her scarf. “Oh. I got the weather alert and rushed out of the library. It’s the first one of the season, so I wanted to be sure to catch it.”</p><p>Gilbert nods in understanding and asks, “Can I wait for it with you?”</p><p>“You were here first.”</p><p>Gilbert snorts at that, and Anne grins sideways at him. They sit in silence for a short spell, the afternoon quiet except for the wind and distant voices of other students. He’s just settled back against the cold metal of the bench when Anne suddenly sits up straight and says, “Wait, so you’re just sitting out here for no reason? It’s freezing!” </p><p>“I have a lab at four,” He says with a shrug. </p><p>“Okay, but like I said, it’s <em>freezing. </em>”</p><p>“I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking about it.”</p><p>His tone comes out more defensive than he meant it to, but Anne merely shrugs and says, “You looked like you were thinking about something.”</p><p>She looks back up at the clouds, and Gilbert sneaks glances at her profile. Talking with Anne is surprisingly easy when she’s not yelling at him. He’s come to learn this in their regular treks across campus. The conversation doesn’t always flow easily, but when it does, it’s mainly about literature, or the basics (where they’re from, if they enjoy their major so far, how disgusting they both find the second-floor laundry room to be). She makes fun of him and refutes his opinions, and it didn’t take him long to be comfortable enough to start dishing it back.</p><p>It doesn’t get much more serious beyond that; there’s still that light shroud of awkwardness that hangs over them, the kind that exists between people who are just on the cusp of a good friendship. They’re not quite there yet, but he wants them to be. He wants to tell her about this. It’s okay if she knows.</p><p>He shoves his hands in his pockets and says, “I was thinking about my dad.”</p><p>The bench shakes slightly as Anne’s knee starts bouncing, either from the cold or in anticipation of the snow. She doesn’t say anything in response, but as he watches her knee, he suddenly feels compelled to just blurt out the rest. </p><p>“Back home, our house got cold really easily. It’s old, like older than a century, and the heating system never really got the job done, so it used to drive my dad crazy in the winter. It’s like he could never get warm enough,” Gilbert says. He pauses, then ghosts a hand across his curls. “One time I came home from school and I had snow in my hair, and I felt so bad about tracking it into his room, but he just thought it was funny. He hated the cold, but he liked the snow.” </p><p>Anne hums in acknowledgment, and her voice is soft when she asks, “Was it just you and your dad?” </p><p>“Yeah, my whole life. He used to call us the ‘Prodigal Sons’,” Gilbert huffs out a laugh. It’s been a while since he’s thought about that. He tucks his chin down, sinking lower in his seat as he says, “He, um, passed away when I was sixteen, but he was sick for some time before that. I guess I just think of him more around this time of year.” </p><p>Anne’s gaze is so heavy he can feel it, and when he looks over at her, she doesn’t look away. Normally, their eye contact is fleeting, and Anne’s almost always the one to break it first. Now she’s looking at him openly with the most peculiar look on her face, as though she’s just figured out something important. She scoots back until she’s slouched against the bench like he is, and rests her head back on the top of it. </p><p>“My biological parents died when I was a baby,” She remarks. This doesn’t really come as a surprise as him, since she’s mentioned her adoptive parents before, but he feels a pang in his chest for the way she says it so casually. “I have no idea if they liked the snow or not. I actually don’t know much about them at all. You know, I used to think kids like you were lucky, since you got to have memories with yours.” </p><p>Gilbert stiffens beside her, and Anne rushes to explain, “But then my Matthew had a heart attack a couple years ago, and I realized no one’s lucky when they lose a loved one. I love Matthew with all my heart, and I don’t know what I’d do if…” She swallows thickly. “I think about him all the time. Him and Marilla. And even though I don’t remember my birth parents, I still think about them often, and that gives me some comfort – just knowing that someone out there is.”</p><p>Anne extends a hand straight out, as if willing the first snowflakes to fall right into her palm. “I think if our parents were still here, they’d be thinking of us, too.”</p><p>It's like the afternoon suddenly shifts and tips back into place. Her knee stops bouncing, the cold breeze pauses in its assault, and Gilbert has the stillness he needs to absorb her words. It’s such a simple idea, but one he’s never considered before.  </p><p>He didn’t realize just how badly he needed to hear it until now.</p><p>Gilbert relaxes against the bench and lets out a foggy breath. She gets it. She gets him. It’s a relief and comfort all at the same time. </p><p>He glances at her again, and his stomach drops when he notices that she’s wiping at her eyes. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you by talking about this–”</p><p>“No, no,” Anne laughs, swatting him away when he reaches over, his hand hovering awkwardly. “I’m not crying. A snowflake landed right in my eye.” </p><p>It takes a second for Gilbert to notice the few tiny flurries that have started coming down, so light at first that he has to squint to catch them. Soon they stick to his jacket, to the loose ends of Anne’s hair, and when he takes off his glove, one drifts right into his palm. He studies the snowflake intently, watching as the tiny, perfect speck of sky only lasts for a moment before melting. Another gust of wind brings the snow down quicker, heavier, and winter officially shakes itself awake with a quiet hello. </p><p>Anne laughs gleefully, throwing out her arms and swaying her fingers as though she’s conducting the flakes’ movement. It’s innocent, and kind of dorky if he’s being honest, but she does it so sincerely that it leaves no room for self-consciousness. Instead, she seems genuinely happy, and it’s sweet, infectious. Childlike. </p><p>Gilbert decides that maybe that’s not such a bad thing.</p><p>He starts swaying his arms too in a much more exaggerated manner and nods at Anne very seriously. For a second, he’s afraid she’ll think he’s making fun of her, but she only snickers and starts waving her arms harder. It turns into a competition between them, waving their arms around in an imaginary rhythm that any passerby would be unable to follow. It ends with Gilbert nearly falling off the bench, and Anne flicking specks of snow at him. </p><p>“You look ridiculous.”</p><p>“So do you.”</p><p>“I don’t care.”</p><p>“Me neither.” </p><p>“I think it got colder.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m freezing.” </p><p>Gilbert stands and brushes himself off, and only then does he remember why he’d stopped on the quad in the first place. He checks his phone and blanches. “Crap, I gotta go, my lab starts in five minutes.”</p><p>“Oh,” Anne blinks, her brow furrowing. “Well, thanks for letting me sit with you.”</p><p>“Anytime, seriously,” He says emphatically. He shrugs his backpack over his shoulder, reluctant to leave. Another swell blows over them, dusting Anne and the ground around their feet. He wonders if it’ll stick. </p><p>“Look, this has been bothering me so I just wanna–,” He takes a breath, “That day when I missed class and you brought me your notes, that was the, uh, <em> anniversary </em>of... you know, and I was embarrassed that you had to see me like that, but then you ended up being nice to me, and gave me that apple tart – which was delicious, by the way – and now this, and I just… thanks.” </p><p>Anne presses her mouth into a closed-lip smile that makes her eyes soft. She looks down and says, “You don’t ever have to be embarrassed about something like that. Not around me, anyways.” She looks back up and grins wryly, “Also if anyone’s out here embarrassing themselves, it’s me. I’m always sticking my foot in it, so I’m actually surprised this conversation went as well as it did.” </p><p>“And yet I’m the one who insulted you before we even officially met.”</p><p>“Fine! We’re both embarrassing! We’re walking disasters!” Anne concedes, throwing her hands up. He chuckles at that, and she kicks his leg with her foot. “Now go, you’re probably officially late at this point.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m definitely late,” Gilbert replies, not caring one bit. He hesitates for a second, then taps her leg back. “You gonna hang here for a bit?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Her voice is quiet again. “I think I’m gonna call Matthew and Marilla.” </p><p>He nods at that, understanding completely. He knocks on the arm of the bench with his knuckles. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then.”</p><p>“See you,” Anne says, then, as he’s turning to head down the sidewalk, she calls, “Actually, my roommate and I were gonna round up some people for a movie night before finals… if you wanna bring the popcorn?”</p><p>Gilbert walks backwards a few steps, trying to suppress just how excited he is by the invitation. “Absolutely.”</p><p>At that, he turns away again so he can grin fully, and makes his way across the quad feeling lighter on his feet. It occurs to him that his earlier advising session has been all but forgotten, which is a feat within itself due to his tendency to ruminate (a habit which he’d pick up when his father first got sick). As a boy, he was skilled in letting things roll off his shoulders, unbothered by letting go. He decides he wants to be that person again. </p><p>At the edge of the quad, Gilbert glances back one more time to see Anne still on the bench. She’s cross-legged, surrounded by snow, and speaking animatedly into her phone with a smile visible from where he stands so far away. She looks like she’s glowing. She looks like how he feels. </p><p>He’s almost to the science building when he whips out his own phone.</p><p> </p><p>[Gilbert]: <em> hey, you guys free for Facetime later? </em></p><p>[Bash]: <em> this evening should be good. everything okay?  </em></p><p>[Giblert]: <em> yeah. just in a really good mood, and want to talk to my family. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. So.</p><p>This has been something I've been working on sporadically since September, aka forever ago. Lmao. It was originally supposed to be done by October 13 (Fox Mulder's birthday, because this was originally gonna be an X-Files themed fic, but then it developed a life of its own), but then life and work and the approaching holidays got in the way, and you know how it goes. </p><p>This story is dedicated to two of my favorite writers: Ray Bradbury, and my friend Ale. Ale's listened to me complain about this story from its conception and has frequently read, reread, and offered suggestions for this fic. Ale, you're the best, and I miss trick-or-treating with you. Also just miss you in general, but will hopefully see you soon.</p><p>I'd also like to give a huge, HUGE thank you to Fer (lilieswho) who has been such a big help in keeping me motivated throughout writing "sad lonely boy fic" (through encouragement but also threats), and to Riley (metsuryuogi) for her kindness and for answering all of my random college-life questions since I have the brain of a goldfish and promptly forgot everything upon graduating. Thank you both for beta-reading this and for also making me want to be a better writer! </p><p>Part 2 is underway and halfway done. If you've made it this far, thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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